


A Cottage in the Catskills

by kristophine



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Bisexuality, M/M, Original Male Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristophine/pseuds/kristophine
Summary: In 2004, a lot of things happened. That was how Dan had decided to think of it: A Lot of Things Happened. In some small way, that absolved him of the responsibility of keeping track of exactly which things had happened, because God, there were a lot of things and so very few of them were good.





	A Cottage in the Catskills

**Author's Note:**

> If I build it, will they come? Sports Night is currently available on Hulu, and so help me God, if you come join me in my dead fandom hell I'll write you a story.

In 2004, a lot of things happened. That was how Dan had decided to think of it: A Lot of Things Happened. In some small way, that absolved him of the responsibility of keeping track of exactly _which_ things had happened, because God, there were a lot of things and so very few of them were good.

The show was good. That part was important. Isaac was making much louder noises about retirement, and Dana was taking on more responsibilities without struggling against them quite as much. Natalie was finally in the substitute anchor pool and looking better and better for a full-time anchor position, which meant Kim, of all people, was getting groomed for Dana’s position, while Natalie cast lures for other shows.

The show was good, which was why it was so fucking baffling when they were a month out from the Olympics and Casey said, “Maybe Natalie should have my spot.”

“What?”

The clatter of glasses and the hum of voices around them didn’t stop abruptly, to mark the obvious solemnity of the occasion; it was positively obscene that people kept carrying on as if Casey hadn’t just said the stupidest thing to ever leave his mouth.

“On the show. She’s getting pretty good.”

“At the risk of stating the obvious, your spot is _your_ spot.”

Casey kept staring out across the room; he shrugged with one shoulder, holding his beer loosely in one hand, dangling above the table. “I know.”

“What exactly are you planning on doing that would open up your spot?”

“I dunno. I was thinking about getting into sports writing.”

“Getting… _into_ it? I thought you were already there.” Dan could feel a horrible gnawing sensation in his stomach, and he knew from long experience that if he tried to ride it out, the odds were about fifty-fifty he’d either end up crying or throwing up.

“I mean, writing for magazines. New outlets. The Internet.”

“That’s not going to be steady work.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be a _lot_ lower-profile.”

“And you suddenly care about being low profile? What planet am I on? Which pod people, exactly, kidnapped my best friend and replaced him with someone who _doesn’t want to be famous?_ ”

“Do you even know that movie?”

“Shut the fuck up, Casey.”

Casey blew out a sigh. “Okay, but you have to promise not to be mad at me.”

“I will promise no such thing and you damn well know it.”

“Promise not to hit me?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been thinking about settling down.”

“Huh,” said Dan blankly. “Don’t you have to have… a girlfriend, or something? For that?”

“You’d think that, yes.”

“I’d think that.”

“Yes.”

“But I’d be wrong?”

“You’d be wrong.”

“So, what, you’re going to buy a little lakeside cottage in the Catskills and keep bees and write about sports?”

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“Are you doing that thing where you get pissed off about something and go for the nuclear option?”

“No.”

“Because after your divorce—”

“I’m seeing somebody.”

“Huh,” said Dan. This time, he couldn’t come up with a follow-up statement. That was just… enough, on its own; more than enough.

Casey inspected his bottle. “I don’t think you’ll like them.”

“Don’t think I’ll… so you _hid_ her from me?”

“Not exactly.”

“So what’s the _exactly_ I’m missing, here?”

Casey sighed, and then sighed again, and ran his hand through his hair, shifted uncomfortably on his seat—he was making a whole production of it and Dan was just about ready to lose his shit for real, when Casey drew a deep breath and said, “I’m not hiding a _woman_ from you, Danny.”

“That… would… imply…” He couldn’t feel his face. He wasn’t hyperventilating. Probably. But he couldn’t feel his face.

“I’m not… I haven’t been lying, exactly,” said Casey, with a pleading note in his voice. “I just haven’t shared the, uh, the whole truth.”

“And nothing but the truth?” muttered Dan.

“Anyway, it’s getting serious.”

“It’s getting _serious?_ ”

“Yeah.” Casey shrugged one shoulder again, with a face like he’d been kneecapped. “It is. And…”

“You can’t exactly see your future as an anchor with a… cottage in the Catskills.”

“Yeah.”

“I need a second,” said Dan, standing up. “I need—I’ll be right back.”

In the bathroom he cried, for a minute or two. It was awful; the tears always felt lava-hot, his cheeks would get red—sometimes throwing up was easier. He managed to stop crying, splashed cold water on his face. Waited another minute and did it again. Another guy came into the restroom then, so he grabbed a paper towel, dried his face off most of the way (you had to leave it a little damp so the evaporation would cool off your skin and make it less pink, faster), and went back out.

Casey was still sitting at their table, beer bottle clutched in his hand. White-knuckled. Dan sat down next to him.

“Okay,” he said. “So here’s what we’re going to do.”

“Yeah?” asked Casey.

“You’re going to _introduce me_ like a _normal person_ instead of whatever kind of goddamn asshole doesn’t let his _best friend_ meet the person he’s going to quit sports for.”

“I… am?”

“Doesn’t your—significant other—get pissed about not coming to dinners or whatever? Anthony’s? You’re here a _lot._ ”

“We talk about it,” said Casey, voice low. “It’s… it’s okay.”

“Yeah, well, whatever, fuck that noise. You, me, your significant other, tomorrow night, my condo. Dinner.”

“Are you cooking?” asked Casey doubtfully.

“I am personally offended by your tone, my young friend. And no. I’ll get take-out from the Thai place. What should I get?”

“Oh, pad thai is fine.”

“Not for you, you chucklehead, your… person.”

“Uh. I… can I text you later?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

 _But if you’re so serious,_ he added, bitterly and meanly inside his own head, _you should really know what Thai food he likes._

“You’re… being pretty cool about this.” Casey sounded cautious, but at least he’d looked up from the table and was making eye contact.

“That’s me,” said Dan. “Cool Dan. Dan, the Doer of Good Things.”

“You realize you say shit like that right before you descend into unprecedented nervous breakdowns.”

“Please. At this point, there’s always precedent.”

Casey gave a kind of undignified snort-laugh at that one, and things felt a little more normal.

 

Dan kept it together all day. All. Damn. Day. He was running on about three hours of fragmented sleep, but no one needed to know that. He didn’t ask Casey about the mystery guest. He didn’t ask _how long,_ or _are you sure,_ because those were just going to get them all tangled up and then they wouldn’t be able to write. And weirdly enough, they were still writing—still doing fine.

At one point Casey said, apropos of nothing, “You and Natalie have good chemistry, on air.”

“We do. It’s because we’re both professionals. Professionals at a skilled and difficult job.”

“That you are.”

“I’m better than she is, though, right?”

“Of course, Danny.”

“Good. Damn right.”

Around six Casey texted him _swimming rama?_ And he said _sure_.

After the show, he punched Casey lightly in the arm. “Still on for Thai food?”

“Hell, yeah,” said Casey. Someone who knew him less well might have missed how pale he’d gone.

“All right. See you over there shortly.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”

 

The buzzer went off; Dan let them in. He’d changed clothes twice. The apartment was uncannily spotless, because when you can’t sleep, hey, might as well clean. The food was on plates. There were forks. It was a classy establishment, Chez Danny, a class act.

He opened the door and it was Casey, first, so he stepped back and waved them both in. For a minute he’d been thinking about going in for a hug, but then he’d thought that might look weird to his guest, so he didn’t.

The guest himself followed a minute later. Dan was wracking his brain, trying to decide if the guy looked familiar. He didn’t seem familiar. He was good-looking, in a tall, broad kind of way, not unlike Casey himself, and he had a tentative smile that showed perfectly capped teeth.

“Come on in!” said Dan, aware to his own ears that he sounded overly friendly. He tried to dial it back, but not to where he wouldn’t sound friendly _enough_. “We’ve got Thai food, we’ve got Thai iced tea, and I hope you brought an appetite, because then there’s a thing of donuts.”

“Why donuts?” asked the guy. He sounded genuinely curious.

“I was walking by a bakery. Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” The guy smiled and stuck out a hand. “I’m Caleb. Thanks for having me over.”

“My pleasure. You can just put your coats—Casey, can you at least try to model better guest behavior in front of your—Caleb?”

Casey rolled his eyes but picked up his coat from the chair where he’d flung it. “Pardon _me_ for not realizing you had a coat rack.”

“How have you never realized I have a coat rack? I have had a coat rack for literally the last five years.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

Dan turned to Caleb. “So! It’s nice to meet you. What do you do?”

“I’m an attorney,” said Caleb. He did not, at all, look like someone at ease, but he was trying hard, which got him some points. “My practice is mostly wills.”

“Well, that’s good! You’re not going to run out of clients. People are definitely going to keep dying.”

“Yep,” said Caleb, and they shared an awkward chuckle.

“Anyway! Let’s—uh, here, we can get started on the food.” He shooed them over to the table, which he hadn’t used for eating in weeks if not months, and they settled around it, trying not to bump shoulders or ankles, and mostly failing.

“Are you from around here?” Dan asked, after a bite of his green curry.

“Uh, no, actually, I’m from Wisconsin.”

“Oh, that must be helpful. Having that whole Great Lakes thing in common.”

“Yeah,” said Casey. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“You ever discuss your favorite dairy products?”

Caleb chuckled, while Casey shot him a glare. “Can’t say as we have!”

“Well, Casey has strong feelings about provolone, so just keep that one in your back pocket.”

That made Caleb laugh even harder. It was worse, in some ways, that Caleb seemed— _nice,_ really nice; in other ways, it was a lot better.

“So.” Dan waved his fork between the two of them. “How’d you meet?”

“We were on a plane,” said Caleb. Not a shrinking violet, at any rate. Casey continued to look vaguely seasick, but Caleb kept shooting him glances that seemed to suggest _this is what you were worried about?_ “I was coming back from a vacation to Hawaii, and Casey—”

“Was that when you were covering the Super Bowl?”

“Yeah, actually.” Casey smiled tightly, his eyes darting back and forth between them.

“Huh.” Dan went back to his curry. “Don’t tell me he fell asleep and you thought it was cute, because I have seen him nap.”

Caleb laughed again. At least he appreciated Dan’s attempts at humor, even if this was all B-roll. “No, he was reading and I thought the book looked interesting.”

“Did you recognize him? Are you a sports fan?”

“I hate to say it, but not really,” said Caleb, immediately setting off a hot rush of victory in Dan’s stomach—Casey could _never_ get serious about someone who—but Caleb spoiled it by adding, “I mean, I played college football, and after I blew out my knee it was just never the same, you know?”

“Really? What school?”

“Wisconsin. I know, it’s a cliché, but I stuck around pretty close to home.”

The conversation wandered through relatively unthreatening territory for a while. Eventually, Dan said, “Casey and Caleb. It’s funny, you know, your names only being two letters different.”

Casey shrugged. “Guys’ names aren’t always that creative.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Don’t know why, but I was expecting something a little more exotic.”

“Like what?” asked Caleb with interest.

“I don’t know. Julian? Arthur?”

“Hah!” Caleb grinned. “I can’t imagine myself as a Julian. Arthur, maybe.”

And he was right, too; with his square jaw and unremarkable good looks, he could definitely have been a community theater Arthur.

“I think you’re right,” said Dan.

“It’s been great, but we should probably get going,” said Casey. “I’ll drop you at your place.”

“Okay.”

They milled over to the door, where Caleb shook Dan’s hand again and said very sincerely, “It was really great to meet you,” and Dan smiled back and finished shaking his hand and said, “Yeah, you too.”

 

After they left Dan carefully scraped the leftovers back into the clamshell to eat later. He stared at the disposal for a long minute, but in the end, did not jam a plastic spoon in it to see what would happen.

“That’s good,” said Abby when he saw her that morning, having called her office the hot second it opened and begged his way to an appointment. “Those destructive impulses are distractions more than anything else, and it’s helpful to recognize the moments when what you’re craving is a distraction.”

“He’s going to run away with this fucker,” said Dan. He reached up and dug his hands into his hair, pulling just enough to sting. “He’s going to run away with this asshole and retire somewhere and leave me to do the show with Natalie.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Like I should get a shrink who asks better questions.”

“Door’s always open, Danny. Nobody locked you in here.” Her face held nothing but friendly disinterest. It made it easier to talk to her; it always had.

“It makes me feel like _shit._ ”

“And why is that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to know that?”

“Danny.”

“Fine. Because we—look, we risked _everything,_ we worked hard to get where we are. We’ve been working together since 1993. Over ten years! And he’s going to throw it all away, throw away a _dream_ career, for _Caleb,_ who I just met _last night_ even though apparently they’ve been a thing since _February._ ”

“So he’s been keeping this a secret from you.”

“Me and everybody else.”

“And that bothers you.”

“Ding ding ding. Give the lady a prize.”

“Because you’re in love with Casey.”

He groaned and slid off the couch until he was lying on the floor. It was a dramatic, full-body slide, and frankly he thought he deserved some credit for it, but Abby just kept staring at him, lightly tapping her fingers against her lips, as if he were some interesting new species of bug.

“We’ve covered this before, Danny.”

“I know.”

“You were under the impression he was heterosexual.”

“I know.”

“This has to stoke some jealousy not _just_ because of the show.”

“Go to hell.”

“And now you find out that he is not, but outside of a context where you would feel like you could act on it.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re probably wondering whether you should come out to him, since he’s come out to you, but you’re wondering whether that’s going to make things weird between you.”

“Sounds about right.”

“How much weirder can they get?”

He propped himself up on his elbows and squinted at her. She shrugged.

“I mean it, Dan. How much weirder can things get between you and Casey right now? He’s talking about quitting, you’re pissed about his secret boyfriend, it’s going to be a mess no matter how you slice it. Why not just crank that dial up to eleven and tell him about yourself? What’s the worst that can happen?”

“…He could quit,” said Dan.

“He could quit _sooner,_ I think is what you mean. And while you’re at it, why not go whole hog? Tell him it hurt your feelings that he didn’t tell you sooner that there was someone important in his life. Tell him what that does to your perception of your friendship.”

“Can I bring you along and _you_ tell him how I feel?”

“Oh, I don’t think that would work out terribly well, Danny.” She gave him a smile with too many teeth.

 

She had a point, was the problem.

“So you’ve been together, what, four months?” said Dan.

Casey sighed, refusing to look up from his computer. “Yeah. About that long.”

“And you’re talking about getting a cottage.”

“It doesn’t have to be a cottage.”

“Are you unhappy at the show?”

“No. God, no.”

“You’re just…thinking this could be it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m kind of pissed you didn’t tell me.”

“I know.”

“Any particular reason why you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was going to be a thing. I honestly did not anticipate that it was going in this direction.”

“But now you think it is.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Did you always know you…”

“For a while. I, uh, the 80s and 90s… were not good times for me.”

“Yeah, champ, I was there.”

Casey gave a dry laugh, almost a cough. “So you were.”

The streaming light from the window left Dan in a patch of warmth. It was almost too much. “There were some good times in there.”

“But overall, not so great.”

“No, between Lisa—wait, are you…”

Casey darted a glance both ways, which was hysterical, what, did he think there was going to be someone lurking in the corner of their office, before stage-whispering, “Bisexual.”

“Ah. I see.”

“So it didn’t seem like it mattered. Until I met Caleb.”

“No, I can see that.” Dan rocked back in his chair. “Uh, so, in the spirit of sharing…”

“That’s your Abby voice.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you’re going to tell me something Abby told you. You get the Abby voice. It’s like you’re channeling her wisdom.”

“She has some wisdom. Highly limited amounts.”

“Hey, she’s a smart lady. She’s got a degree and everything.”

“A couple of them, actually.”

“So what’d she say?” Casey had a vague air of dread.

“She said I should share.”

“What, exactly, are you sharing?”

Dan coughed into his fist. “Well. I—uh, maybe I should say, in college—”

“Danny, if this is going to be about some gay experience you had at—”

“Fine, fuck you. I’m bisexual. Too.” Dan clasped his hands on the desk in front of him like he was at a business meeting or something. It was mostly to stop them shaking, but Casey didn’t need to know that.

Casey sat in silence for—Dan’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—a solid fifty-eight seconds.

When Casey opened his mouth, Dan felt the crawling adrenaline in his spine flare up, but instead of saying anything, Casey stood up and walked out of the office.

Dan stared after him, at the glass door swinging shut.

 

He last a full twelve minutes before trying Casey’s cell. Unfortunately, it just buzzed in his coat pocket, flung across the back of his desk chair.

For a minute, Dan entertained the fantasy of reading Casey’s text messages. How incriminating would they be, if someone hacked it? What kinds of things did sedate, normal, pleasant Caleb say when no one else was watching? What was Caleb into?

He gave it up as a bad idea almost immediately, though. The upside to having seen Abby for so long was that, by now, he could hear her in the back of his mind: _And what would you be trying to accomplish, Dan? Making yourself feel even more excluded? Or giving Casey a reason to run farther away from you, sooner? Pressing the gas pedal on an upcoming disaster?_

And the answer was yes, all the above, so it was probably better to sit at his desk like a stuffed gazelle and wait for Casey to come back.

He managed to write a few lines. Then a few more. Casey came back, thirty-seven minutes later, still white as a sheet, and sat down like nothing had happened. Casey was weirdly quiet all through the evening rundowns, and on air he was clearly on autopilot, talking brightly but giving the impression of one of those fortune-telling machines at county fairs.

After the show, Casey said, “Walk with me,” once they’d unplugged. Dan followed him—into the stairwell, foreboding concrete all around them.

“This is really going to echo,” Dan observed, looking around. “You sure this is where you want to talk?”

Casey threw his arms up in annoyance, but seemed to take the point, because he went on to drag Dan into the elevator and then up to the roof.

“We’re propping this door open,” said Dan, frowning at the door. “I’m not dying up here.”

Casey made a series of complex gestures of extreme frustration, but did, thank God, drag over a brick and prop the door wide open. It cast a single long streak of light out over the roof.

“You’re _queer?_ ” Casey shouted at him. “How did I _not know that?_ ”

“I don’t know! I didn’t know about you!”

“We’ve been friends for _sixteen years,_ Danny, _how did I not know?_ ”

“I told you, I don’t know!”

“ _How_ bisexual are you?” Casey was breathing hard, spots of color on each cheek.

“What, like on a scale or something? I don’t know. Enough to bang a quarterback. But I love the ladies, too, and by and large the ladies love me, for the most part considerably more than—”

“Oh my God.” Casey was pacing in tight circles. “Oh, my God.”

“I’d just like to point out that I reacted _way_ better to you telling me about Caleb, who, by the way, seems very nice.”

“I broke up with Caleb,” said Casey. His face was going redder and redder. “I called him before the show and I broke up with him.”

“Why did you do that?” Dan meant for it to sound chiding, he really did. Caleb _had_ seemed nice. He was smart, clearly, and liked Casey a lot, and hadn’t done or said anything too awful, and four months wasn’t nothing, even it did seem rushed to start thinking about settling down—but it didn’t come out chiding. He heard the note in his own voice, and cursed it. _Just because he,_ he tried to tell himself.

“Because—” Casey turned away, flinging his hands up again.

Dan stepped forward, putting a hand on Casey’s shoulder; Casey turned into it, and kept turning, and grabbed Dan’s shoulders; Dan found himself getting tangled in their limbs, trying not to tip over, but then Casey kissed him, mashing their mouths together.

His heart was going like crazy. Palpitations stammering in his chest, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t—Casey let him go and he half-fell back, putting a hand out to catch himself, but there was nothing there and he just sort of fell down, ending up sitting on his ass on the roof.

“Danny,” said Casey, crouching next to him. “I know—shit. Fuck. I’m—am I fucking everything up? You _know_ I suck at this.”

Dan took a deep breath, and then another. Concentrating on the instructions he’d heard so many times from Abby he could have recited them in his sleep: breathe in through the nose, count to four; out through the mouth, count to four. He still felt light-headed.

“You dumped Caleb for me?” he said. It came out as a squeak.

Casey, in the stray ambient light, looked exactly like he’d looked at the worst depths of the Dana bullshit: confused, alarmed, but grimly determined. “Yeah,” he said.

“Stay with the show,” said Danny. He reached out and grabbed Casey’s lapels. “Stay with _me._ ”

“I—I will.”

“Even if this goes to shit.”

“If—” Casey was looking up and down, from Dan’s hands to his face. “I will.”

“Good,” said Dan, and kissed Casey. Casey made a muffled noise and fell against him, and they ended up with Dan lying flat on his back on the roof, making out with Casey, who was—what the fucking fuck, actually shaking, himself, shaking like a leaf. “Shh, shh,” Dan muttered nonsensically into his hair, stroking Casey’s hair, shoulders, back, like soothing a frightened horse; eventually Casey subsided, and was just lying on top of him, heavy and warm.

“Not to sully this moment,” said Dan, “but there is something _really_ pointy under my back.”

“Oh! Oh, God.” Casey rolled off him and got to his feet, reaching back down to pull him up. Dan gingerly touched his back—great, it was all gritty, Wardrobe was definitely going to yell at him.

“You broke up with Caleb,” said Dan. “For real. He _knows_ you broke up with him.”

“Yeah.” Casey’s mouth was set.

“This isn’t like when you broke up with Dana in stages.”

“No.”

“Because—”

“I know, Danny,” said Casey, with just a trace of his usual asperity. “And it’s—it’s done. It’s finished. It was just… I didn’t know if I wanted, I don’t know, to keep doing the same thing—keep sitting next to you every day, all day—”

“You were pining for love of me?” Dan couldn’t help the grin starting to twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“Shut up,” muttered Casey, turning brick red again as they walked slowly back to the door.

“You _were._ This is great. No, really! It’s great.”

“Yeah, well,” said Casey, and ran out of gas.

“Me, too,” Dan added quietly as they started back down the stairs to the elevator. “You—you know that, right?”

“Well, I know it _now,_ ” said Casey.

“Good. You should know it.”

 

Wardrobe took one look at their clothes, when they returned them, and decided that they’d gotten into some kind of fistfight on the roof. Dan didn’t mind the rumors; it went a long way towards explaining why they were suddenly being weird around each other, and there was some inevitable weirdness, in those first few weeks. And then it was Olympic season, and Natalie grinning like a maniac because “Olympic _fever,_ everybody!”, and things were completely fucking insane for weeks on end, until, by the time the Olympics were over, no one seemed to remember that things had been weird.

They were getting Thai one night for a meeting, and Casey stuck his head around the doorframe. “Hey, Danny.”

“Yeah?”

“Green curry, right?”

Dan found himself smiling at Casey—the kind of big, goofy smile he usually tried to reign in.

“What?” Casey flushed, looking defensive and yet pleased.

“Nothing,” said Dan. “Green curry’s good.”


End file.
